


Sorrow you can hold

by panamdea



Series: Waiting for you sadness [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panamdea/pseuds/panamdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirax had never been close to Janson but after Distna, for Corran and Wedge’s sake, she feels a sense of responsibility for him. Her efforts are well intentioned, but Wes is more complicated than she'd expected and she is more fragile than she realised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow you can hold

**Author's Note:**

> As you might expect from a fic set immediately after the battle of Distna, there are two seriously unhappy people here. Suicide is mentioned, though not contemplated.
> 
> Set on the Errant Venture somewhere between Distna and Coruscant during Isard's Revenge. 
> 
> Originally posted on wraithsquadron.livejournal.com in January 2012.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> "Sorrow you can hold, however desolating, if nobody speaks to you. If they speak, you break down." - Bede Jarrett
> 
> ~~~~

It took Mirax ninety-seven minutes to find Janson. Ninety-seven frantic minutes of increasing guilt and rising panic during which all sorts of horrible scenarios played through her mind. 

She found him, eventually, in an empty observation room in an unfrequented part of the ship. The lights were off leaving the room illuminated by the strange light of hyperspace and Wes was a shadow against the window. She noticed, and was relieved, that he still seemed to be unarmed. Worried about how he would react, she and Iella had tried to keep anything that could cause damage away from him since he’d woken. Just in case. Though just in case what they had carefully avoided talking about. 

They’d assumed Wes hadn’t noticed because he didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything very much, but during her search Mirax had wondered if he’d just been waiting for an opportunity to get away from them all. As he’d had the best part of ship’s afternoon to prowl around by himself, the Force only knew what he might have picked up - or done - if he’d wanted to.

The relief faded abruptly as Mirax remembered Corran saying once, jokingly but with a glimmer of respect in his voice, that Janson was a walking armoury of concealed weaponry, and wondered if his current appearance was deceiving.

She shuddered at the stray thought of her husband and pushed it away. This wasn’t the time to think about Corran, not when she had one of his still living squadmates to deal with. She’d never been particularly close to Wes but now that it was clear Asyr was really leaving he was the last Rogue and her last link to Corran and Wedge. They'd want her to look out for him and she would never forgive herself if… 

Wes hadn’t reacted as she’d expected when Iella had broken the news of the Rogues’ deaths to him. He’d claimed not to remember what had happened after his snubfighter had disintegrated around him but he’d listened to Iella in almost eerie silence, his expression blank, and Mirax had wondered what he remembered from the battle that he wouldn’t talk about. She’d often wondered since what he was thinking. What he might do. 

So when she'd found him gone from the quarters he'd been assigned to and not in any of the usual places he might logically be found, all the nebulous fears she’d been entertaining had crystallized into a knot of fear in her stomach that had driven her on her anxious search of the ship. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to break at some point and do some serious damage. Damage to non-critical parts of her Father’s ship didn’t bother her too much, but damage to himself was a different matter.

She would never forgive herself if…

She took a deep, calming breath, pushed the thought away and stepped into the room. “Wes. Thank the Force. I was….” she trailed off, noticing his posture properly for the first time. He was standing leaning against the window, his forehead pressed against the transparisteel his shoulders slumped. It was the posture of a defeated man.

Without thinking she asked. “Are you alright?” _What a stupid question_ , she thought as the words left her mouth, _none of us are alright, least of all Wes_.

“I’m fine, Mirax.” He didn’t move, and it was abundantly obvious he didn’t want her company but she wasn’t going to let that deter her.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.” The monosyllable was not quite curt.

“Are you sure? I’m worried about you.” There was no response, not even a disinterested shrug. “You’ve been so… quiet. Not like yourself…” She broke off, knowing that it was yet another stupid thing to have said. After all, what was he supposed to be doing? Chatting up the female crew and pulling pranks? Well no, of course not, but at least some drinking and bar fights would have been more reassuring. More normal. If anything could be called normal anymore.

It may have been stupid, but it got a reaction. Wes pushed himself upright from the transparisteel window and turned towards her. The look on his face almost made her take a step backwards. It was so unlike any expression she’d ever seen on his usually cheerful face, and his eyes were full of fury or pain or something she couldn’t name. But when he spoke his voice was deliberately even and colourless and completely at odds with the emotion roiling on his face and in his eyes.

“My squadron is gone. Anyone in the galaxy who meant anything to me is dead, and you’re surprised that I’ve not been acting like myself?”

And that sort of question sounded so wrong spoken without any inflection or emotion, Mirax thought. There should be anger, pain, sarcasm, something. She shivered and replied more forcefully than she’d intended.

“Wes, I know. Don’t you think I know what happened? I lost my husband.” She fought to keep her voice calm too and lost. “My husband. My husband and my oldest, best... my brother. Don’t you think I understand? Iella’s hurting too, but we’re carrying on, trying to be… but you… you’re… you’ve.” She trailed off again, not quite able to finish the sentence.

Wes looked at her for a moment then turned away.

“I’m not suicidal, Mirax.” He sounded tired now, but at least his voice wasn’t empty anymore. Mirax was suddenly horribly embarrassed.

“No. Of course not. I didn’t…”

“Yes you did.”

“No.” The denial was half-hearted this time.

“Yes.” There was an awkward silence. “It’s ok, Mirax. I understand. I’ve seen what happens to pilots who loose their squadron. I know the drill. I get it. You’re worried. I appreciate that. But I’m ok.”

“No you aren’t!”

“I’m fine.”

“You can say it all you like, Wes, but it’s not true.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So? Kriffing hell, Janson, you’re an idiot.” Irritation at his constant denials flared in her chest because she'd seen him tense and was pretty sure he was being deliberately difficult now and perhaps she should have been glad of that given how worried she’d been about him, but she was doing her best, and he could at least _try_... “We’re worried about you. You didn’t loose all your friends, we’re still here. Iella and me. Booster. We’re all worried about you. And we understand. You can talk to us, you can…”

“No.”

“Wes, please…”

“No.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone made it clear that as far as he was concerned, this was the end of the discussion. She ignored it.

“Why not?” She demanded, and to the irritation she added guilt for being irritated. What sort of person was irritated with someone who was as… as broken as he was?

“I’m not you, Mirax. I don’t need to talk about it. I know what happened, I know how I feel, I know how to deal with it.” He spoke without apparent interest and that made it worse somehow. “I’m fine and I’m not going to talk about it just to make you feel better about yourself. I’m fine.”

It took her a moment to register what he’d said before the irritation, guilt and grief flamed into sudden hot anger, because he was partly right, she did want to feel better but how dare he point that out when she was trying to help him? Without thinking about it, she snapped back at him.

“No you’re not! You are not fine! None of us are! Wedge is dead! Hobbie and Tycho are dead. Corran’s dead. They’re all dead, Wes!” Tears welled up in her eyes at her own words and she turned away from him. She couldn’t bear seeing him stand there so emotionless when she was hurting so badly. “They’re all dead and you should care about that!” She spoke through the sobs that were fighting their way out of her, so angry with him now that she didn’t really care what she said, just wanted to make him hurt as much as she did, make him as angry with the universe as she was. “You should feel _something_.”

She expected him to shout at her, expected anger, almost wanted harsh words in return, and was totally unprepared when he wrapped his arms around her instead. She’d never seen Wes embrace anyone before, never really even seen him touch anyone beyond a comradely shoulder punch or clap on the back. It should have felt awkward, especially after everything she’d just said, but it wasn’t. It was just reassuring and she was too hurt, too tired to care or do any more than accept the comfort he was offering.

Another sob broke from her and she turned in his arms and collapsed against his shoulder. “Corran’s d-d-d-dead.” she repeated, the magnitude of it almost overwhelming her.

“I know.” Wes’ voice was soft and he hugged her with the sort of gentle understanding Mirax had wanted from her father but which he’d been painfully, obviously, unable to offer and which, knowing how much he’d been hurt by her marriage, she couldn’t ask for. In the face of the sympathetic understanding she’d been craving, she gave up and sobbed her heartbreak incoherently into Wes’ shoulder.

Mirax cried for a long time before guilt asserted itself and she pulled away, appalled by her loss of control. She’d not meant to burden Wes with her own trouble, hadn’t meant to pile that on top of his own pain.

Wes let her go, pushing his hands deep into his pockets as he watched her, his expression neutral but she thought she could see a mix of guilt and concern in his eyes even in the strange shadows the eerie light of hyperspace cast across his face. Like that, unsmiling, somber and concerned, he looked older, and she wondered suddenly if she did too, if that was what grief did to you.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, scrubbing the tears off her cheeks. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s fine, Mirax, really.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that.” She said with a wan attempt at a smile.

“This really is fine.” He smiled a very small and slightly twisted smile in return, the first smile of any kind she’d seen from him since he’d woken up after the bacta. That was something, at least, she thought, then realised this was as close as he’d got, perhaps as close as he would ever get, to admitting that he wasn’t fine. A feeling of deep sadness washed over her as she understood.

“Thank you, Wes.” She kept her voice quiet, not sure she could trust herself not to cry again if she spoke any louder.

“Any time. Really.” Wes patted her shoulder, and this time it was awkward, the moment of connection gone. He turned away from her and stared out of the view port and Mirax knew he’d shut her out again. She knew, though, just as clearly, that he’d meant it; she really could cry on his shoulder at any time and he’d be ok with that, he’d push away his own pain to help her deal with hers. Three hours ago she wouldn’t have believed Wes Janson capable of such quiet heroism but now surprise barely registered in the wash of churning emotions.

Mirax hesitated, wanting to help him too but not sure how anymore. “Look, Wes. I’m here. If you need to talk. I mean properly, without me shouting at you. Or if you just want someone to sit in silence with you.” She said, awkwardly. “Or whatever. I understand what you’re going through and I’m here if you need a friend. You’re not alone, I’ll always be here for you too.”

There was a long silence and cursing herself for a fool who couldn’t leave well enough alone, Mirax turned to leave. She’d thought for a moment that she understood him, but apparently she’d gone too far.

She sighed feeling awkward and stupid. “We’ll be reaching Coruscant in about twenty minutes. I thought you’d like to know.” There was no response to that, either.

She’d reached the door before Wes spoke.

“Thank you.” He still didn’t look at her and his voice was so low she might have missed it if the corridor outside hadn’t been empty when the door opened. The words, she knew, weren’t a response to her time-keeping note, were more than just thanks; they were an admission of need, of a hurt he wouldn’t, probably couldn’t, articulate yet.

Mirax took a deep breath, nodded, and let the door shut behind her.


End file.
